


Can't Stop The Feeling!

by tresshots



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Insecurity, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad at Feelings, Tumblr Prompt, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tresshots/pseuds/tresshots
Summary: "Derek places the bouquet carefully on the table. “Do you mind?” he smiles like the inconsiderate asshole he is. And there it is, the reason Stiles has been sulking for the past hour. A physical reminder that one day Derek will settle down with someone, and no matter how much Stiles wants it to be him, it won’t. 
God, he wants to burn it down to the last petal."
So basically I just mutated a tumblr prompt to suit my own tastes: "we’ve been pining forever, and you just caught the bouquet at our friend’s wedding"





	

 

It happens as if in slow motion: the stretch of Allison’s arm, her pearly white smile, and then she sends her wedding bouquet flying. People are cheering and stomping, eager faces accompanied by eager fingers, and then everybody watches as the bouquet ends up almost suspiciously neatly in Derek’s lap.

The crowd erupts in applause and whistles, and some of the ladies are already preening themselves. Romance is everywhere, this is a midsummer wedding for Christ’ sake, anything could happen. Elton John asks whether you can feel the love tonight, and the answer seems to be a resounding _yes_.

Stiles can’t do anything but watch helplessly as Derek’s mobbed, people going over to congratulate, women of all ages flooding to express their joy for this happy occasion, and oh by the way, is there any chance Derek would happen to be _single_? Derek doesn’t respond to any of it, really. Just raises his gaze from the flowers, and his eyes lock with Stiles’ right away, even from across the room.

_Oh, shit_ , Stiles thinks with a sinking feeling in his stomach. _And everything had been going so well._

 

**10 hours earlier**

 

“It’s kind of funny, really. Usually you’re the one calming me down, yet here we are,” Stiles observes as a wild eyed Scott walks around the room in circles.

“There’s nothing funny about this.” Scott looks pale and handsome in his tux. “It’s happening, it’s actually happening, I can’t believe this.”

“Yes you can,” Stiles says, takes a bite of his apple. “You guys were meant for each other.”

“You really think so?”

“We’ve been over this a hundred times. Yes, you dickhead.”

“I know we’ve never – but you’re like my brother, you know that, right?”

“Right back at you,” Stiles says and rolls his eyes before this gets too emotional. He absolutely refuses to shed one single tear before they’ve even reached the church. “Go on now, I’d hate to keep Melissa waiting, she wants to talk to you. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“Bro,” Scott raises his fist.

“Bro.” They fist bump and that’s it then, Scott flashes him a nervous smile and is on his way. Melissa had wanted to talk to his son for a while before the ceremony, and Stiles doesn’t have anything to do except wait, so wait he will.

He keeps gnawing on his apple and checks the time. They’re on schedule, and he would feel all self-congratulatory if it wasn’t for the fact that a dark figure in the corner scares the crap out of him.

“Ho-ly _shit_ , make some noise when you’re moving,” Stiles holds his chest and glares at Derek who’s decided to make an appearance.

“Hi,” Derek sounds pretty satisfied with himself, and as Stiles takes a look at him, he understands why.

Okay, so. It hasn’t managed to escape Stiles’ notice that Derek’s pretty much the very definition of male beauty. But this is the first time he’s ever seen Derek in a suit, and that’s just a whole new level of handsome. “Wow. You’re sort of – yeah.” Stiles doesn’t even bother to hide his glazed look.

“I pass?” Derek asks smiling. Sometimes Stiles thinks maybe Derek just doesn’t have any idea what he looks like. Any guy who looked like Derek should be fucking girls and guys left and right, right? But he hasn’t seen Derek even flirt with anyone for years. There’s something very unjust about Derek not using his God given form for a greater good. Porn, for example.

“Barely tolerable, but I’ll let it slide,” Stiles won’t boost Derek’s ego any more, and he doesn’t _care_ Derek looks slightly disappointed, he can go beg for compliments somewhere else.

“So, how’s Scott?” Derek asks stepping forward.

“Surprisingly calm. But then again surprisingly nervous too. I don’t know, it’s all a… mess.” Stiles’ speech dries up as Derek comes across the room just to settle between Stiles’ legs, just far enough that they’re not actually touching but could be if either of them leaned a bit forward.

Derek looks at him all serious and then reaches to fix Stiles’ bowtie. “It was a little,” he says like it explains everything. “There you go.”

“Right, thanks.” Stiles clears his throat. He’s a big boy, he can handle a bit of unwarranted proximity from Derek. “How was Allison doing?”

“I wouldn’t know, Lydia kicked me out of the room when her grand aunt started groping me,” Derek winces.

“So much for that Hale-Argent hate, huh?”

“Guess so.” Derek blinks his gorgeous eyes up at Stiles. “What about you? Are you ready?”

“I was born ready.”

“I’m pretty sure you were born small and lopsided, but okay.”

“Oh fuck you, I was a delightful baby.”

“Whatever happened after that, I wonder?”

Stiles shrugs, smiling lopsidedly indeed. “Me too.”

And, fuck, he didn’t mean his poor self-confidence to make Derek look all pitiful and sad. “Stiles. You’re doing great, you know that, right?” Derek presses and he lands a hand on Stiles’ knee, squeezes it. It feels comfortable and warm and safe and they really shouldn’t be doing this, Stiles’ pants won’t be able to hide any percentage of boner.

“Don’t go all soft on me,” Stiles says, tries to just make Derek smile, which he does indeed.

It’s an award winning smile, both shy and flirty and as if that’s not bad enough, Derek opens his mouth too. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

And Stiles isn’t stupid, he doesn’t miss the very obvious glance Derek takes at where they’re almost joined together from the hip. And while usually Stiles loves it when Derek gets like this, this isn’t just a good day, not really – his best friend is getting married and Stiles is just somebody who’s great to flirt with, but he’ll always be the best man and nothing else.

Fucking hell. Derek looks at him like he’s waiting for an answer, but Stiles doesn’t know what to say, he wants to tell Derek to stop this, he doesn’t want to be a laughing stock anymore, he wants to be taken seriously for one goddamn moment –

“Oh! I didn’t mean to interrupt, sorry - “ the door opens and Melissa scrambles in, looks unsurely between the two of them, and Derek jumps off Stiles so quick it could be caused by an electric shock.

“No, no, nothing was interrupted,” Stiles forces himself to smile. “You look absolutely gorgeous, and you didn’t mess up your makeup with tears, that’s great! Come on now, let’s get Scotty boy, get this show going,” he gets off the table he’d been sitting on, doesn’t bother looking at Derek, just angry at himself he let it get that far.

 

 

**Present**

 

The band is playing a pretty great cover of Justin Timberlake’s Can’t stop the feeling, and although Stiles is sort of feeling the beat, he can’t make himself get up and head to the dancefloor. No, he’d much rather sit here and watch Derek flirt with a legion of bridesmaids instead of having fun with his friends, thank you very much.

Okay, so in all fairness they’re not _all_ bridesmaids and Derek isn’t as much flirting as listening politely, but Stiles is feeling petty as fuck and slightly murderous, too. Even more so when one of the girls reaches to caress Derek’s chest oh so subtly, probably pretending just to feel the soft material of his fancy shirt.

And it enrages Stiles, not only because he knows Derek doesn’t like strangers touching him, but also because how many times has he himself pulled that exact same move? How many times has he put his hands on Derek, wishing he would finally get the clue and just _kiss_ him?

So currently Stiles is stuffing himself with cake. It’s delicious, too, thank god for small favors, all triple chocolatey with a fluffy feel. He keeps ignoring Lydia and Erica’s gestures to join them at the floor, and maybe sulking isn’t appropriate best man behavior, but so what? The love of his life has decided to give his attentions to someone with way better cleavage Stiles could ever have, so he’ll revenge with his plateful of cake. Joke’s on Derek, _really_.

He checks his watch and wonders whether he could get away with insisting he’s got migraine – it’s not too far from the truth – as some giggling ruckus is nearing his table.

“No, I really must go greet him – sorry. It was nice meeting you, but I’ve gotta go. Yes, I do. Bye!”

Of course it has to be Derek making excuses to his swarm of admirers, and they all look so fucking disappointed, too. Stiles almost laughs; he knows the feeling, thanks to _them_. But then again he doesn’t really feel like laughing when Derek takes the liberty to sit down next to him, with all his unfair muscles and disheveled hair and really, Derek in a fitted suit should be _illegal,_ Stiles thinks bitterly as he devours a huge spoonful of his cake.

“That good, huh?” Derek looks intrigued by the sight of Stiles being an absolute pig.

“Cake is good, just good, great. What, you haven’t tasted it?” Stiles grumbles and flushes the cake down with a huge gulp of wine. He can deal with his emotions just fine and healthy.

“Haven’t had the time,” Derek grimaces and nods discreetly towards the girls, who are heading towards the balcony, sharing cigarettes with each other.

“Sucks to be you.” Stiles raises the plate once more, fully prepared for a bite, when Derek reaches out and scoops some of the cake with his finger.

Stiles watches in pure horror as Derek licks his own finger clean form the chocolate mousse. This is it, he’s _had_ it. “What the hell? Get a spoon, you _freak_!”

“You haven’t minded before,” Derek is smirking now, like he knows exactly what the sight of him blowing his own finger is doing to Stiles.

“Maybe now I do,” Stiles grumbles and he can feel himself blushing, from pure anger, _sure_.

Derek only flashes a smile, loosens his tie a bit. Such a simple action shouldn’t be so sexy, but it is. And with the motion Stiles can see what Derek’s been carrying: the bloody motherfucking flower bouquet is making an appearance.

Derek notices him staring at the bouquet, raises it to full sight, places it carefully on the table. “Do you mind?” he asks and just smiles like the absolute inconsiderate asshole he is.

And there it is, the reason Stiles has been sulking for the past hour. A physical, pompous reminder that one day Derek will settle down with someone, and no matter how much Stiles wants it to be him, it won’t.

God, he wants to burn the bouquet to the last petal.

“So, I’ve got cake and wine, and you got a bouquet. Great! I don’t care,” Stiles snaps after downing the little of what remained of his wine.

“Oh.” Derek looks taken aback by Stiles’ tone, and okay, maybe he is being more biting than he normally would dare to be, but it’s just all too much.

He’ll recoup himself in the bathroom, neatly and quietly, and then he’ll be Fun Stiles again. It’s a plan. And it’s a great plan, too, especially because the swarm of girls are done with their cigarette break, coming back inside and already nudging at each other, shooting looks at Derek. Derek won’t be left without company, and isn’t that just fan-fucking-tastic? And so he says so too. “Would you look at that, they’re back! You should go talk to them. Much better company than me and my cake anyway.”

“Stiles,” Derek blinks and really, it’s like the guy can’t tie more than three words together.

Stiles is done, he’s getting the hell out of here. “Nope,” he says, mostly to himself, as he rises from his seat.

Derek’s vicelike grip stops him from proceeding. “Why are you acting like this?” he demands, eyes like liquid starlight or some shit, Stiles doesn’t know, he’s drunk, okay? And he can’t do any of this, not when Derek is just being nice, when he doesn’t really _know_.

“Shut up! I’m gonna go pee now. Thanks for everything, Derek.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Mad? Who, me? Never,” Stiles widens his eyes mockingly, and it’s clear his act is hurting Derek on some level, for he frowns severely. But Stiles has _got_ to get going, now. “Seriously, let me go now or I will pee on you, so help me God I will. So unless you want to tell me about your watersports kink…”

Derek drops his grip immediately. Stiles doesn’t bother to look behind him as he makes his way to the bathroom, wishing to hell he won’t bump into any the girls on his way. He might be a huge Game of Thrones fan, but he doesn’t think Scott and Allison would much appreciate a live demonstration of Red Wedding.

 

 

“Hey, what is – HEY! Let go of me immediately,” Stiles screeches as he steps out the bathroom and somebody just _grabs_ him from the scruff, starts dragging him to the opposite direction of the ballroom.

“Make me,” the attacker says and it’s Derek, because of _course_ it is. Stiles knows better than to fight him physically, he’s already preparing to get his heart broken, he doesn’t need any actual broken limbs on top of that.

Derek leads them to an unoccupied storage room, closes the door behind and then settles back against it. His biceps are visible even through the suit, and Jesus, Stiles wants him so much he could _cry_.

“I don’t want to do this,” he says instead and reminds himself of the last time he tried to punch Derek during pack training. He ended up spraining his own wrist instead. It’s clear he won’t be getting away before Derek says so.

“Do what?” Derek asks and he’s perfectly chill, like this is a normal interaction between them. And okay, maybe Stiles has had a dream or dozen about them in enclosed spaces, but they haven’t been doing much _talking_ in those, have they?

“This! Any of it! _You_!” Stiles snaps. All of his calm is burning down. He thought he’d had a nice breather in the bathroom, but of course this asshole has to ruin everything.

“And now I’m starting to get really worried,” Derek says and he looks like it too. “What’s happening? Have I – did I do something?”

“What could you possibly have done?”

“Well, you were quite angry about the girls,” Derek states and Stiles freezes. He hadn’t really expected Derek to be so blunt about it.

Derek seems to notice something in his expression, like he’s been caught, and then he drags a tired hand across his face. “Look, if you had your eye on one of them… I didn’t know, and I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know. You can go have your pick now, if that’s what this is about.”

No, Stiles doesn’t want to go have his pick, what the _hell_ even, he wants to strangle Derek with his own tie. “You absolute dickhead. You know what, I don’t even wanna – “ Stiles laughs hysterically and doesn’t even care, makes a move to get past Derek, but of course it’s not happening. “Let go of me. _Now_.”

And there’s nothing playful about this anymore. Derek’s hand is on Stiles’ hip, he can feel the heat through his dress shirt, and fuck if it isn’t a heady, miserable feeling.

“Stiles, please. Just tell me what I did and I’ll fix it, I swear I will.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly something.”

Derek looks way too relieved that Stiles is actually answering without using too many curse words, and Stiles can’t help it, his gaze drags down to Derek’s lips. He wants to taste Derek’s stubble. “I’m too drunk,” he declares, and this is _so bad_. It’s practically the perfect setup for a secret wedding hookup, the lights are dim and it’s getting hot and Derek is _so hot_ , it’s all adding up and if Derek doesn’t let him go soon, he’ll get way too excited and won’t that just be a can of worms he wants to open _never_.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Derek says in an understanding tone.

And it’s such an easy excuse, Stiles should say yes, but he can’t. “Although there isn’t much else I’d enjoy more, I think I’d rather not,” he says and tries to step away from Derek, but he just won’t let go. “Look, can we forget this whole thing?”

“I don’t even know what this _is_.” Derek is pleading now, and fuck, doesn’t that just fulfill a thousand of Stiles’ fantasies. “Please, Stiles. I thought we were friends.”

“Friends. _Right_ ,” Stiles can’t help but sneer. Derek is about to raise his other hand to Stiles’ face, god knows what he’s got in mind, and Stiles can’t take it. “You’d better get away from me,” he says coldly, and it’s both a confession and a warning.

“I didn’t know my physical presence bothered you so much,” Derek says quietly.

“Oh it _bothers_ me alright.” Stiles is feeling cruel and he simulates the same move one of the girls executed on Derek before: puts his palm on Derek’s chest, where he knows the pecs are. The intensity of his touch can’t go misunderstood this time, and fuck, this is why Stiles has always been so careful about getting too close to Derek.

He can’t help it, though, not with the way Derek smells like such nice and expensive aftershave, not with how he’s been wanting him for ages. So he looks at him straight in the eye as he pushes closer, and that’s it – Derek blinks as he feels Stiles hard against his hip.

“Stiles.” Derek whispers, and it comes out strangled. “Is this – okay.”

“Okay, what?” Stiles asks and Derek’s still not moving away, would it be so terrible if Stiles just leaned a little forward and -

“Please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but I think – is this about the… flirting? And stuff?” Derek asks like he’s reached some sort of conclusion. There’s understanding in his eyes and Stiles’ heart is in his stomach.

Flirting and stuff. Well, that’s one way to put a seven year long one-sided love affair.

But it’s still something, though, isn’t it? At least Derek acknowledges they’ve been flirting. It hasn’t been just Stiles. That’s a small victory. But it makes something ugly raise its head in Stiles’ chest, too.

“Don’t worry, I won’t actually _do_ anything. Your precious virtue is safe,” Stiles sneers and tries to step back - except Derek doesn’t let him.

Derek licks at his own lips, and Stiles is captivated. “Yeah, well, maybe you should,” is what he chooses to say.

“What?” Stiles doesn’t mean to laugh, but he does. It’s not a terribly amused sound though, rather than skeptical, which is exactly how he feels. He can’t make himself look away from Derek’s extraordinary eyes.

“If that’s what it takes. I would.”

“You would… what exactly?”

“If that would help you. I’ll let you fuck me.” Derek raises his chin as if he’s preparing for battle. “Look – sometimes I’ve smelled something or heard your heartbeat or whatever – I know we’ve never really talked about it, but… if you’re curious, I can… we can do that.”

“Curious,” Stiles repeats. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. It’s so much of what he wants and yet none of it.

“Yeah. And I can promise – I mean, I haven’t really been with anyone for a long time, but I’d try to make it good,” Derek says, and then it’s him who pushes forward, and he’s hard, too.

_Derek is hard because of me, I did that to him_ , Stiles thinks, and it’s so _unfair_ that he _still_ can’t have that. “I don’t need a pity fuck, Derek, Jesus.” It’s killing him to say this, he knows he should just take whatever Derek’s willing to offer, but he also knows he can’t just fuck Derek once and then have to pretend like it’s never happened. Sure Stiles feels like he’s dying inside, but doing that would kill him to _actual_ death.

Derek cocks his head, and he won’t stop staring at Stiles’ lips. “Pity fuck?” he asks like he’s never heard the phrase before in his life.

“What the hell do you think – you can just fuck me once and expect it to be over?” Stiles snaps and he can’t believe Derek’s making him do this, making him spill all his feelings and offering none in return.

“What’s over?”

“This. Me. I don’t know. My – _feelings_ , or whatever.” Stiles groans and takes a step backwards, and this time Derek’s grip goes slack, and he lets him go.

Go figure.

“You, you have feelings,” Derek says and it’s like he’s never seen a human being, that’s how intently he’s staring at Stiles.

“So no to watersports kink, yes for humiliation kink. Great.” Stiles makes jokes because he has nothing else.

“Feelings. For… me?”

And what is _wrong_ with this guy, _seriously?_ Stiles always knew Derek had a cruel streak but it hasn’t extended to him in years. It’s never too late to start again, apparently. “I’d ask whether you wanted it in Mandarin Chinese, too, but I can’t actually speak it, so.” Stiles closes his eyes and feels so fucking _tired;_ how could he not? They have let it all hang for years, and now it’s all coming out and there’s no turning back. At least he can make sure the bridges are thoroughly burnt, make a real good job out of it. “Look, this doesn’t mean anything – you’ve got a whole room full of eager girls, they were really pretty, too, man, I’m so happy for you. So you don’t have to stoop this low – I mean – why the hell would someone like you ever settle for someone like me, right?”

A moment of silence. Stiles won’t open his eyes. He belongs in the dark, now. Maybe the answer’s been here all the time; maybe he’ll just have to blind himself so he doesn’t have to look at Derek’s beauty all the time and then everything can go back to normal.

“Don’t ever define yourself as _settling_.” Derek sounds actually upset, and then Stiles is being tugged against a warm chest. “Stiles.”

“What?” Stiles mumbles and he can’t help himself, he _has_ to bury his face in Derek’s neck. If this is the last chance he’s got to be this close to Derek, and let’s be real, after this confession it _will_ be, then he’s going to make some memories.

“Look at me?” Derek suggests, but Stiles can’t do that.

“I’d much rather wouldn’t, if that’s okay with you.” Derek’s arms come around him, and now they’re hugging, he can feel Derek’s breath against his neck and it’s so much better than whatever pathetic little fantasies he ever had about this happening. “Just _go_ , this is actually breaking my heart, oh my _god_.” Stiles is sobbing, he’s man enough to admit it, and it won’t be long before there will be tears, he knows it.

He’d rather Derek wouldn’t stay to witness his breakdown, but then also he doesn’t want to ever let go.

“Stiles.”

And who gave Derek the right so speak so softly, to start pressing feather like kisses down Stiles’ neck? If he owned any self-control he would get out of here right now and never look back, but he’s never liked lying to himself. He knows where this is going, Derek seems horny and so he will give Derek this, he’ll let him fuck him and then he’ll be left with the pieces of his heart and Derek will move on, but Stiles will love him _forever_.

“Wǒ ài nǐ.“ It’s so soft Stiles almost doesn’t hear it, but then again he doesn’t understand the meaning of the words, so it doesn’t really matter either way.

“What?” he grumbles and it’s so like Derek to start his linguistic acrobatics right now. Like Stiles needed to be impressed any further.

“It’s Chinese,” Derek says. The next kiss lands just on the corner of Stiles’ jaw, and Stiles will die knowing Derek’s stubble is actually really soft and feels comforting. “Wǒ ài nǐ. It means I love you.”

Stiles’ head snaps back at its own volition. Derek’s looking at him all easy and pleased, but Stiles’ poor battered heart can’t take any of this. “Don’t fuck with me.”

“I’d much rather you fucked me.”

“Derek.”

“The way you’ve been acting all night – I thought – well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, I just – all along?” Derek asks and he looks so damn _happy_ , eyes crinkling at the corners, and like Stiles is the reason for that, which is so crazy it’s not happening, he’s probably on a werewolf version of Punk’d.

“Stop this, it’s not funny,” Stiles says, to which Derek answers by trying to lean forward and what the hell is he _doing_?

“I’m trying to kiss you, here,” Derek says helpfully.

“This can’t be happening.”

“I don’t know what else I can say.” Derek gets all serious, then, and he looks so deep in Stiles’ eyes it must be some sort of hypnosis. He unties his grip from Stiles’ waist and rises his hands to cup Stiles’ face, instead, and all the fight just leaves him – if Derek wants to kiss him, he can.

And he does. It’s a proper foot popping kiss, too, Derek is holding no hostages tonight. First it’s just a soft press of lips, but then Derek decides to run his tongue slightly along Stiles’ lower lip, and all bets are off, then. Stiles still doesn’t have any sort of idea what the hell’s going on, why Derek is saying such strange words like _love_ and _kiss_ in relation to Stiles, but this? He’s been dreaming about this kiss so long his body is practically moving on its own, and oh, _hello, boner_ , he’d thought that had gone already.

“Stiles,” Derek breathes against his lips when they finally surge for air. “Please. Tell me you love me, too.” And there’s such desperation in his voice, and Stiles feels numb, can’t believe he did that, got Derek begging for his love.

“Yeah,” he says and nods, moves in for another kiss. Now that he’s had a taste he doesn’t think he can stop. “Yeah, I do.”

“I need to hear it. Please.”

“I love you.” And it’s _nothing_ to say the words, and shouldn’t that be scary? Stiles has never said it before and meant it this much, but this is – yeah, it’s good. He wants to say it to Derek every day for the rest of his life, and if this is all really true, it actually seems like Derek wants to hear it, too. Which is just… how can he get this lucky?

Derek claims his mouth again and again, and he ends up pressing Derek up against the door, which makes Derek groan. “Marry me.”

Which is just, _what_? Wait a second, Stiles should really put a stop to this -

“Yes.”

_Was that his own voice?_

And they have to stop kissing because Derek’s laugh is such a delightful sound. “Not right away, of course, but – I want it, the whole thing. I want it with you. God, Stiles, I’ve never wanted anything like I want you.”

“Yeah, well – same.” Stiles keeps petting at Derek’s chest. He figures he’s got permission to do this, now. He’s kiss drunk and love drunk and he just loves Derek, even though he looks fondly at him like he’s an idiot. “Shut up, you can’t expect me to articulate when you keep doing – _that_.” Derek presses a biting kiss to Stiles’ neck.

Stiles’ hips snap forward, and this is a new, completely welcome sensation, they’re both hard and Stiles swears he could get off just like this, hanging off Derek’s neck, with them making out with tongues and grinding against each other’s cocks like fucking teenagers. But sadly Derek does seem to have other ideas, which he makes clear as he abruptly pulls from the contact. 

“Where are you going?” Stiles whines sadly as Derek straightens his tie. It’s a sad, pathetic attempt at looking put together, really, Derek looks absolutely _debauched_ and Stiles is so unbelievably proud to say he’s caused it.

Derek fixes him a heated look, runs a hand through Stiles’ hair. “You’re gonna go over to Lydia, tell her you’re leaving, and then we’re going home. Together.” He says the last two words like they carry extra weight, and actually they do – because, whose home? Because this is what Derek is actually saying: _wherever you are is home_.

“Okay,” Stiles swallows, because what else is there to add, really?

They don’t actually get out of the room for fifteen more minutes, but Stiles figures it’s okay. And if Lydia ends up yelling at him for being the world’s most inconsiderate best man, so what. The next morning he wakes up to Derek kissing him, and to think that this - this is just the _beginning_.


End file.
